


Warm Enough

by AQuietThinker



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Angst, Dunkirk Evacuation, Gen, Gibson (Dunkirk) Lives, Gibson's Real Name Is Philippe Hugo Guillet (Dunkirk), Hurt/Comfort, Parental Mr. Dawson, Post-Dunkirk Evacuation, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 18:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30126882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQuietThinker/pseuds/AQuietThinker
Summary: He promised himself to join the war effort, but it was difficult for an old man to work with the same strength as young soldiers did.Ages later, as their small boat had fought against the waves in an effort to reach the French coast, he could only pray that they’d be enough to save lives.
Relationships: Alex & Gibson (Dunkirk), Gibson & Tommy (Dunkirk), Mr. Dawson & Everyone
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4
Collections: "Are you warm enough?"





	Warm Enough

**Author's Note:**

> I am most deafinetly not proud of the title, but I ran out of ideas halfway through making the fic. From Dunkirk discord server's prompt "are you warm enough?"

_ When his own boy had left for France, he had been proud. _

_ In his eyes, he was just a boy in a man’s uniform, with thick hair styled back in the rationed grease and shining blue eyes that reflected his mother’s tears. However, the army saw him differently, gazing at one of the thousands of men who would defend the land and free other countries from Germany’s conquesting greed. _

_ When they received the news of his death it was a sober afternoon, and the sky had cried rainy tears along with his wife. He promised himself to join the war effort, but it was difficult for an old man to work with the same strength as young soldiers did. _

_ Ages later, as their small boat had fought against the waves in an effort to reach the French coast, he could only pray that they’d be enough to save lives. _

_ \---------- _

“Are you warm enough, son?”

The soldier was perhaps as old as Peter, though his eyes carried much more weight than the pits of the sea. His raven hair was dried but still stuck to his forehead, and his skin was pale- not enough to be considered corpse-like, but his breathing was shallow and his cheeks were sunken.

The boy didn't move, and he wondered if it was due to shell shock or deafness. A few more men in the front of the boat were affected by this, who stared at the sea with trails of dried blood running down their ears.

He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and he jumped, looking up at him with a panicked expression and shaking his head. He asked again, but the soldier couldn't understand, and he was about to say something before the boy next to this kid spoke up.

“He can’t understand you, sir.”

He nodded. “What is your name?”

“Tommy, sir.”

“And his? Do you know it?”

The boy hesitated. He seemed protective of the soldier, with one of his hands still gripping the sleeve of the man’s uniform, but he didn't reply. Another voice did, and they both turned around to glance at another boy with curlier hair.

“His name is Philippe.”

Tommy looked at the newer participant of their small conversation with certain anger before it vanished, and laid his head back against the wooden wall. 

The boy, Philippe, looked up when his name was pronounced, and his eyes seemed less frightened than before. 

"Êtes-vous assez chaud, enfant?” he repeated, this time in french and trying his best to maintain a less noticeable accent.

A few soldiers who overheard the exchange of words looked up, and he ignored the angry snarls some of them expressed.

Philippe shook his head without looking up, but his shoulder still trembled and his lips were coloured a hue of blue. He sighed to himself and unwrapped one of the blankets, throwing it around the soldier’s shoulders. Their hands, his own wrinkled by the time and the boy’s burned by oil, met momentarily when he brought the edges of the cloth forward. He pulled away and patted his shoulder gently before walking away.

More soldiers needed blankets, but mostly they needed a home.

\----------

_ When his own boy had left for France, he had been proud. _

_ When one of the planes went down, Peter had little hope, but he had to try.  _

_ Someone had not been there for his own boy, but he was there, present even with the cold ocean breeze and the dangers of falling shells and the cutting sounds of passing planes. And even if the soul stuck in the falling plane was the only one they saved, it would redeem him for the loss of his child. _

_ Peter had pulled the man out of the boat with just enough time, and though Collins had acted quickly and pulled himself together, Dawson could still notice his quivering hands. _

_ When their vessel was full and the chalky cliffs of home were visible in the distance, he took off his own coat. _

_ Collin’s paler hair was visible among the oil covered soldiers, and though it was late, the man was still helping out. He pulled him away with a gentle hand on his arm, letting him sink to his knees near the ship’s helm. _

_ The soldier brought his legs up and rested his head against his knees, finally allowing himself some rest. His head was kept down, unlike the other men who watched as the sea swallowed the sun. _

_ For a moment Dawson felt a pang of nostalgia. _

_ The image of a boy with the same blonde hair, slightly younger and with features shared with Peter, appeared in his mind. His own child used to wait for his brother and mother like that, by the docks, after a whole day of work. _

_ No coat, and a youthful smile insisting that he didn't need one, for the cold didn't bother him. He had spent many nights caring for his children’s fevers. _

_ Dawson took off his own coat and let it fall on the soldier’s shoulders, passing a hand through the light coloured hair before retreating back. The only motion of gratefulness expressed back were Collins' hands clutching the lapels of the coat closer to his chest. _

\----------

“Collins? Isn't it too cold to be out here?”

For a moment, the image of an older pilot left Dawson’s mind and was replaced by the reflection of a boy with light hair and scared eyes, shaking from the cold and terrors that haunted his dreams at night. A child thrown into war along with his generation, who now confused thunder with shells and night lights with explosions, who could not bathe without feeling the hands of the sea pull him down and wrap around his throat.

A boy who had seen Death take his fellow men away but never stopping to set him free.

Dawson’s own child had looked like that, terrified of his own shadow when he came home for a few days of leave. He could only wonder if the kid was free now, if heavens did exist, without worrying of the aftermath of war.

Collins brought a hand up towards the cigarette that stuck out of his mouth, with a rusty lighter. His fingers fumbled with it over and over again, but it would not start a flame. The shaking was too violent. 

Without thinking, Dawson took the flame into his own hands and lighted the cigarette. Collins retreated his hands to the pockets of his coat and inhaled.

After a while the pilot replied, balancing the cigarette between his lips. “It’s alright, Mr. Dawson. You should go back inside.”

Dawson smiled affectionately. “And let you freeze in the winter, my boy? I think not.”

“I wouldn't want to intrude.”

“Nonsense.” he denied. “Peter always loves a good story, and Anna would make me sleep on the couch if she knew I left you out here in the cold.”

He noticed the hesitance that flashed across Collins’ expression before the pilot nodded. Dawson carefully wrapped an arm around the soldier's pilot to guide him back inside. 

Hopefully a warm fire and family would be enough to drive away the harsh coldness of war.

**Author's Note:**

> "Êtes-vous assez chaud, enfant? means Are you warm enough, child?
> 
> Comments give me seratonin. Stay safe!


End file.
